


Got you on my mind (Got you in my heart)

by commatme



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: (but multiple times), 5 Times, Blow Jobs, Bottom Steve McGarrett, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Office Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-12 02:41:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20556869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commatme/pseuds/commatme
Summary: They’d be on Steve’s couch.They’d probably be watching sports and drinking beer. Maybe Steve would get caught staring at the way Danny’s tongue touches the lip of his bottle, or maybe he’d pluck up the courage and lean over and press his own beer-cold mouth to the spot just under Danny’s ear and make Danny shiver, or maybe Danny would just look at him and Steve wouldknow.(Aka, five times Steve fantasizes about Danny.)





	Got you on my mind (Got you in my heart)

**Author's Note:**

> Eyyy, more writing experiments! I'd be very curious to know if you guys think this works.

1.

They’d be on Steve’s couch. 

They’d probably be watching sports and drinking beer. Maybe Steve would get caught staring at the way Danny’s tongue touches the lip of his bottle, or maybe he’d pluck up the courage and lean over and press his own beer-cold mouth to the spot just under Danny’s ear and make Danny shiver, or maybe Danny would just look at him and Steve would _know_. It would be a shining moment of _yes_ and _finally_ and then, suddenly, they’d be kissing like mad, like the horny gay teenager Steve never got to be. Like they’d both been starved for it, even though they’d only been denying themselves, really. 

The TV would continue to play in the background. Maybe they’d knock over one of their beers, hastily discarded but not put far enough out of reach to be safe. Neither of them would care or even notice, because they’d be far too wrapped up in each other. Steve would fumble at their zippers until he got them both open, got them both pulled out of their underwear, and Danny would bat his hand away so he could line them up and wrap his own strong, sure fingers around them both. He’d jack them, quick and dirty and impatient.

Steve would keep kissing Danny, undone with it, swept up in touch and scent and panting into Danny’s mouth. Danny’s hand would speed up, rough but a slicker slide when their combined precome eases the way, and Steve would let out a whine, a whimper, and he’d be _done_, it would hit him like a _freight train_, wave after wave of─

-

2.

They’d be in a hotel room.

It would either be for a case or a friendly bro weekend getaway, but they’d be sharing a room, two beds pushed against opposite walls, and when night falls, Steve wouldn’t be able to help himself. He’d be hard, _so hard_, just listening to Danny breathe and _knowing_ he’d be no more than a few feet away, the whole hot heat of him, probably wearing nothing but a pair of ratty old boxers because Danny still thinks Hawaii is way too hot. 

And Steve would try to hold out, he very earnestly would, but eventually it would get so bad, just listening and trying to stay still and having to ignore the throbbing between his legs, that it would get actually painful. He’d _have_ to reach down. He’d be helpless. He’d lift his hips just a few inches and push his own boxer briefs down his thighs and close his hand around his length and he would feel guilty as hell about it, but it would be such a sweet, sweet relief.

And Danny would hear him. Of course. He’s only a few feet away.

Steve would be so caught up in pleasuring himself that he’d be totally oblivious to the warning signs, so Danny’s hands pulling at the cover would be sudden, a shock. He’d rip the blanket off and dump it on the floor and expose Steve and everything he’d been doing, caught in the act, so very literally. They’d stare at each other in the darkness, and then Danny would be climbing onto the bed, settling between Steve’s knees, pushing him to lie how Danny wants him to, and Steve would look down and feel-see-_feel_ those lips, oh, stretched wide as they close tightly over his dick and slide down. Danny’s mouth would be just as clever and dangerous while sucking cock as it is talking, and it wouldn’t be a surprise in the least.

He’d run his hand along Danny’s cheek and he’d feel himself there, and it would be too much instantly: too much to take, too much not to fill Danny’s soft mouth with─

-

3.

They’d be at the beach.

Or not quite ─ they’d be leaving, going home after a long day, loading their surfboards in the back of the Silverado. Steve would have parked somewhere quiet, and there wouldn’t be anyone else around, but they’d be in public, right out there in the open, and he’d be pounding with need. He’d have been staring at Danny’s arms and Danny’s thighs and the gradual dishevelment of Danny’s hair as it gets wet and dries and gets wet again and starts showing waves, and Danny would’ve pulled on a t-shirt for their walk back to the car, obscuring that top part of the happy trail of hair leading down that Steve would’ve had a hard time not staring at any time it’s within view, and all of it – the luxurious wealth of sun, sea, surfing and Danny’s skin – would make him feel heady and reckless, like he could do anything. Like the possibilities are limitless.

He’d follow Danny to the side of the car quietly, and push him up against the passenger door before Danny would get a chance to open it. Danny would be surprised, but also surprisingly pliant, because he’d have been watching Steve for hours, too, and Steve would have shown off and maybe flexed some more muscles than necessary and Danny would have liked what he saw. They’d both want it, and they’d both know it, even if the words have never been said. 

Steve wouldn’t waste any more time. He’d sink down to his knees, taking Danny’s damp boardshorts down with him, stripping away that one flimsy layer that he’d never been able to breach before. Danny would be half hard but growing, and Steve would swallow him down far as he could just to _feel_ it happen, all for him, all for his mouth and the image of him on his knees.

He’d start moving: up, down, up until Danny’s cock is almost exposed to the whole world, down until it nearly chokes him. There’d be a dull metallic thump, probably, as Danny throws out an arm and his elbow or fist hits the car that’s the only thing holding him up, because Steve would be _good_ at it, because it would be good for him too, so good ─ silky and hard, sea salt mixed with Danny’s own salty taste. He’d love it, he wouldn’t be able to get _enough_ of it, he’d absolutely _adore_ sucking Danny’s dick. It would get him hot. He’d dig his fingers into Danny’s hips just to keep from reaching down and shoving a hand down his own shorts, even though he’d be aching for it, because he’d already be perched on the edge just from the slick slide of his lips over Danny’s dick and the sound of Danny’s labored breathing. 

Danny’s hands would land on the back of his head, gentle at first, but gradually more demanding, until Danny would be fucking his mouth, moving in and out just the way he’d need it, and eventually Danny’s dick would swell and twitch and he’d hold Steve down, not let him pull off. And unexpectedly, that would be _it_, and he’d be following Danny over the edge into─

-

4.

They’d be at the office.

They’d be the only two people left. Steve would have made sure of it. He’d have been working on something in the central room, or pretending to, and every once in a while he’d have caught Danny sneaking glances at him through the glass window of Danny’s office. Once they’d finally be alone, he’d force himself to wait another five long, agonizing minutes, just to be on the safe side, but also to torture himself by stretching it all out just a little longer, stewing in anticipation for just another moment.

Then, and only then, he’d go into Danny’s office. Danny would be sat at the desk, doing actual paperwork, because he’s a good cop. He’d feign curiosity at Steve coming in, but he’d know, really, from the way he would’ve seen Steve out there, so transparent to Danny’s knowing eyes. He would roll his chair back from the desk a little, under the guise of innocently giving Steve his attention, and Steve would make use of the room provided by squeezing into it, dropping his pants and kicking them off and straddling Danny’s lap, all in one movement. He’d be hard already. He would’ve been hard, truly, for ages.

Danny would accept him there, draw him into a kiss, hands wandering across Steve’s back and cupping the swell of his ass, comforting but possessive. Steve would grind down on him and then, as soon as possible, go for Danny’s fly, popping the button and drawing the zipper down with an ease borne out of all the times they’d have done this before, hushed and dirty. He’d pull Danny out of tan pants and white boxer briefs, a wrapping far too ordinary for what would be hidden inside, and he’d rise up and hold Danny steady and bear down on him.

And Danny would grab his hips, amazed, maybe trying to keep Steve from doing something stupid, but Danny’s protests wouldn’t get any further than that, because his dick would already have breached Steve and Steve would be moving down on him, taking him in, letting Danny fill him up until he’d be fully seated. It’d be easy, smooth, because Steve would’ve been wanting it all day, would’ve been thinking about it since he woke up that morning hard and yearning and took a cold shower instead of jerking off because he knew he’d be getting this at the end of the day and it would be worth it ten times over. He’d have been in a bathroom stall earlier, all by himself with a bottle of lube, working himself open in preparation with a foot braced on the toilet seat so there’d be no delay now.

Danny would gasp and clutch at Steve’s sides, ass, biceps, digging his nails into Steve’s arm to just past the point of pain, to where he’d leave little half-moon marks that would be visible if Steve wore a t-shirt the next day. Steve would ride him and feel wild, feel _right_, impossibly euphoric, and for Danny, it’d be hot and tight and perfect, and for Steve it’d be like coming home.

And he’d be so riled up, teetering so close to the abyss already, that it’d only take a single touch of Danny’s hand while he’d be working up a sweat taking Danny’s dick over and over and over, and then he’d, he’d, _yes_─

-

5.

They’d be on Steve’s couch, again.

They’d be laid out on it, and it would be the result of a blissfully endless hour of kissing and touching and drifting in that space between languid and achingly aroused, in which Steve would’ve sunk further and further down, taking Danny with him, letting Danny chase him, until Steve would be on his back with Danny straddling his legs, perched on top of him precariously. There’d be a sense of déjà vu, but in slow motion. No beer bottles would’ve been kicked over, and there’d still be dishes in the sink and linen on the table and they’d have started out tasting like wine, though they would have licked every trace of that out of each other’s mouths eons ago.

When they’d break their kiss, Danny’s lips would be an obscene pinkish-red. Steve would know that he did that, all of that, and he’d look down and see both of them straining against their zippers and it’d make his gut quake, just thinking about it. He’d go for their pants and Danny would grunt and help him, both their hands fumbly with lust, uncoordinated, tripping each other up and getting their fingers tangled before finally, _finally_, he’d get to see Danny’s dick, poking out flushed and red from the V of Danny’s open fly.

Danny would kiss the corner of his mouth. Steve would want more, greedy, so he’d turn his head, but it’d be at the same time Danny did, so their noses would bump, painfully. For a moment, Steve would be confused. Danny would let out a wheezy laugh, almost a giggle.

“Steve, you with me?” Danny would ask, except he wouldn’t, because Steve’s fantasy Danny hardly ever talks.

There’s a kind of snap, a slight blur to the edges of the world for a microsecond, and then Steve is back in reality, the couch creaky and feeling sticky under his sweaty back. “Yeah,” he says. It sounds hoarse. He has no idea what expression he’s wearing, but it’s probably not good.

Danny’s hands, both of them, are on his face. His eyes are penetrating. “Hey. You okay?”

“No.” That’s not what he should be saying. That’s─ “I want─”

“What? Anything.”

And that’s dangerous. Danny can’t even know how dangerous that is, because _want_ is too feeble a word to capture this gaping chasm of longing in Steve’s heart. He inhales through his teeth, shuddering.

Danny moves a hand, stroking the side of his face, petting the curve of his jaw, weird but soft, so very real. “We’ll get there,” he promises, like he gets it. “We’ll get there.”

Three words that make a promise of a future. Steve lets out something like a whimper, bites it off, and pushes his hips up, instead, rutting against Danny’s. It takes four, five, six thrusts, his dick sliding against Danny in a way that’s not even that good, kind of awkward, clothing gets in the way, and then he’s coming, spurting jizz over his own stomach and between them, smearing it over both of them when he keeps thrusting for another moment, riding his orgasm.

“Yeah,” Danny says, voice breathy, eyes adoring. “Yeah, babe, that was amazing.”

And Steve takes himself by surprise and laughs, and Danny is still hard but really not even close to the finish line, so Steve takes Danny’s dick in hand and sets to work getting him there. It takes a while and the angle is bad and his wrist starts to hurt, twisted artlessly between their bodies, and Danny keeps thrusting and throwing off Steve’s rhythm and there’s Steve’s own cooling spunk that’s getting sticky and disgusting, and it’s not even close to perfect and─ 

And, oh, nothing like anything he could ever have dreamt up.


End file.
